Value Of Life

How much is "life" worth? I'm not referring to the popular magazine sold around the world.

About 15 years ago, I was a fan of a show called Northern Exposure and in an episode titled "Ill Wind", Maurice (a self-centered retired astronaut) was angry that Chris (the town's radio deejay) saved him from falling off a building. Maurice's anger stemed from the fact that he felt he was now unduly indebted to Chris. He asked Joel, the town's only doctor, "What is the price of a human body?". Joel tells him that his University professor did a similar study and came up with US$29. "I knew life was cheap!", came Maurice's flippant response.

I've been thinking a lot about life these days and this has put me in a solemn mood. Perhaps it is because I am turning 37 tomorrow. Perhaps it is because this will be the first birthday in 37 years I won't have my father with me - nor will he be for the rest of my birthdays. Or perhaps it is because of how people close to me talk about dying as if it was as simple as flicking a switch.

My wife and I spent a good six months of 2005 in hospitals - visiting, that is. A total of three of my family members, including my father, were in hospital. My father spent the longest time there starting in May till he passed on in January this year. One of the two relatives was in as a result of an infected toe because of diabetes - infected to the point that doctors recommended amputation. "If they amputate my toe, I'll kill myself", he said back then. He didn't go through with the surgery and by God's grace, his toe has healed somewhat. Last week, we chatted again as usual. Over the last few months, his eyesight was failing as a result of diabetes again. "If I go blind, I'll definitely kill myself" came his finite reply.

While I do feel sad for him, a single man over 50 and living alone, I can't help feel angry at his constant proclamation about ending his life, even though he has the support, albeit minimal, of the family. Why am I angry? Read on.

My father walked in and was admitted to hospital on 12th May 2005. He was scheduled to stay only for a few days for observation. This escalated into a major spinal issue and everything went downhill from there - putting him into a wheelchair and unable to walk or stand on his own. Doctors talked about surgery but were too afraid to operate initially because of the delicate nature of the surgery and my father's age. They said there was a possibility that he would not make it through the surgery. I tried hard to catch my breath when I heard those words. I talked to my father about the only high-risk option available to him. After listening to me, he said "Let's do it. I'll be ok". When I asked him if he was sure, he said "Definitely!". I made the arrangements with the doctors despite fearing the worst and true to my father's words, he made it through. Even his doctors were amazed at his will-power. "He a real fighter", the surgeon told us. "That's my Dad.", I replied.

He was in severe pain from the surgery with tubes coming in and out of him at the ICU. But through his groaning, he would enquire if I had eaten or if his office was being taken care of. And a few days after his surgery, he told me "I am looking forward to going back to my office". I smiled because I knew he would fight hard to get well. It was a load off my shoulders. At a point close to his full recovery where he was able to walk with help and support, he suffered a stroke which affected his left hand, left leg and his speech was impaired. I stood by his bedside and cried thinking how life could be so unfair to him especially when he was so close to his recovery. My father, on seeing the tears in my eyes, mumbled something which I could not understand at first. It was after a few attempts that I heard the words "I'll be alright very soon."

He left the hospital three months later still in a wheelchair after doctors said there wasn't much more they could do to help him. He celebrated his birthday two days later. After the small celebration was over that evening, he called me to his room to say that he wanted to go overseas to try other alternative treatments. "When do you want to go?", I asked. "As soon as possible", came his response. My wife and I made the arrangements and the three of us were on a plane two days later. While in flight, he said "I will not be bringing the wheelchair when I return."

My father made good progress while seeking treatment overseas. He even sent us photos of himself taken by family friends there showing him "walking" to his physiotherapy sessions and even raising his left hand to wave. I was very proud of him. He fought hard and almost won - until a massive stroke took his life.

Despite the fact that my father was an old man and at that point faced with the prospect of being wheelchair bound for the rest of his life, he worked hard to be free from his four-wheeled prison. Even when he was overseas, we talked over the phone and in-between conversations, he'd always say "I'm getting better. I'll be back soon." And in spite of the ordeal of the surgery, strokes and other complications along the way, I never once heard him say "I'd rather die". He did anything and everything he could to get well. God, I believe, had bigger plans for him.

Its no competition but my relative's suffering, in my opinion, pales in comparison to my father's. Still, he wants so much to end his life but my father's was taken even though he fought to go on. This, to me, is the greatest tragedy / injustice of all.

During my low days, I sometimes feel that life is too long a haul. But when I think of my father and how much he wanted to live, I feel shame to even entertain these thoughts. What I've gone through in life is nothing compared to what my father had to endure. And now that I have a son, I hope to bring him as much joy as my father brought to me - and for as long as I can. I believe my father persevered for the very same reason.

In the end, I guess its how much you value your life - not your existence.